


A Release of Tension

by imogenbynight



Series: Odds and Ends [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Massage, always a girl!Castiel, always a girl!Dean Winchester - Freeform, camping trip, fem!Dean/Castiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3491747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imogenbynight/pseuds/imogenbynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which camping is a terrible idea, until it isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Release of Tension

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the tumblr prompt; “Do you… well… I mean… I could give you a massage?”

Camping was terrible idea.

Though the road trip out to this quiet beachside town had been fun—with six of them all squished together in Charlie’s ancient Volkswagen bus, singing along to the radio with varying degrees of skill, how could it not be?—waking up with a rock digging into her neck has put a huge damper on Deanna’s sense of enjoyment.

They’re meant to be hiring jet skis tomorrow. Something tells Deanna that if her neck still feels like this in the morning, she’ll be lucky to make it to the dock.

Through the thin wall of the tent she can just make out the pale orange glow of the guttering fire, and from the sounds of it the only people still up are Charlie and Kevin, who seem to be in a quiet but heated argument about who made the best Star Fleet captain. Their shadows are dim as they both gesture emphatically, each trying to prove their point, and Deanna watches them move as she tries to get comfortable. Moving her pillow lower makes no difference. Rolling onto her stomach just means the rock is digging into her chest or her neck.

Sitting up, Deanna cracks her neck before lifting the edge of her thin foam mattress, hoping she might be able to move the rock through the tent floor, but the motion makes something twinge painfully in her neck. She lets out an involuntary hiss.

Barely a foot away, her best friend Castiel is fast asleep on her own camping mattress. Hers is brand new, purchased specifically for this trip unlike Deanna’s which she’d dug out of the bag of her parent’s garage, and is considerably thicker because of it. Right now she’s the picture of comfort: laying on her side with her sleeping bag unzipped and pushed down to her hips in the hot summer air. She’s got one arm curled around her pillow. The is other reaching into the space between them, fingers spread wide and occasionally curling on the cool floor.

For a long moment, Deanna looks down at her. Mainly because her neck is still tense from the shooting pain when she last tried to move, but yeah, also because she looks beautiful with her long, dark hair falling over her tan shoulders. It’s not until Deanna finally looks away to make another attempt at moving the rock that the stare somehow breaks through her subconscious and she wakes, sucking in a harsh breath as she blinks her eyes open.

“Dee?”

Castiel’s voice is quiet, soft-edged with sleep, and Deanna looks back down to see her squinting in the dark.

“Sorry if I woke you,” she whispers back, turning away to shove at the damn rock under the tent. It won’t budge.

“What are you doing?”

Letting her mattress flop back down in defeat, Deanna sighs and sits cross legged, kneading the back of her neck tiredly.

“There’s a rock under my mattress,” she says, digging her knuckle into the tense muscle to relieve some of the tension. “And now I’m dying of neck pain.”

“Do you—” Castiel starts, then pushes herself up on her elbows, yawning widely. “I mean,” she tries again, and blinks a couple of times like she’s trying to wake herself up. ”I could give you a massage?”

For a few dumbfounded seconds, Deanna entertains the notion that she’s still asleep, because she’s had this dream before. Some iteration of it, anyway. Castiel is gorgeous, and her closest friend, and a freaking yoga instructor, so it would be more surprising if Deanna hadn’t had an involuntary fantasy or two with her in the starring role, but still. It isn’t something she’s particularly proud of.

The crush started two years ago—and it certainly isn’t something she ever thought might be reciprocated, but for a moment, while she looks over at Castiel in the cramped tent, she lets herself hope. Her heart thuds hard.

“Dee?”

“Oh, um,” Deanna gulps. As much as she’d love to feel Castiel’s hands on her, it would be overshadowed by guilt for getting something out of it that her friend isn’t offering. She feels creepy even thinking about it. So she shakes her head, flinching a little when it sends another bolt of pain down her spine. “No, it’s… I’ll be fine.”

Castiel looks at her doubtfully, but ultimately nods, and Deanna calms a little. Her relief is short-lived.

Scooting over to the far side of her own narrow foam mattress, Castiel pats the space beside her.

"Bring your mattress closer," she says, "if we overlap them a little we can share. Better than sleeping on a rock."

There’s not a good reason to say no, so Deanna doesn’t. But as she’s moving, the muscle in her neck tenses, and she flinches in pain. Castiel looks at her with a frown before sitting up.

“You’re not fine,” she says.

“I am,” Deanna insists, and Castiel frowns at her.

“Deanna Michaela Winchester—”

“Jeez, is it really middle name worthy, Cas?”

"It is if you’re being annoyingly stubborn," she says firmly, and shuffles off her mattress completely, pushing it further into the middle of the tent and pointing at it. "Lay down on your stomach."

Her tone brooks no argument, but Deanna is still tempted to try. Her neck is killing her, though. Reluctantly, she does as she was told.

Castiel’s mattress is sleep warm and soft, and when Deanna crosses her arms under her head, resting her cheek against the pillow, she can smell the honey-scented herbal shampoo that Castiel uses. She tries not to breathe it in as Castiel kneels beside her.

The sound of cracking knuckles makes her glance up, briefly, and she catches an odd expression on Castiel’s face—like she’s a little apprehensive, maybe. Nervous. But then Castiel meets her eye and smiles, and Deanna has to look away.

Don’t enjoy this, she tells herself firmly. Don’t make this weird.

She’s barely halfway through the thought when she feels Castiel’s long fingers skim over her shoulders, moving her hair aside. Deanna sucks in a breath.

“That can’t possibly have hurt,” Castiel says quietly.

“Um… you’ve got cold hands,” Deanna lies, and Castiel apologizes before she rubs her palms together to warm them up.

When her hands return to Deanna’s skin, they’re warm and soft and she has no excuse for the way they make her tense up and breathe unevenly. She feels Castiel hesitate as though she’s noticed, and the possibility makes her want to press her face into the pillow in shame.

“Is this pressure okay?” Castiel asks, pressing her thumbs down, rolling her knuckles. Every point of contact just makes it harder for Deanna to concentrate. She can’t think beyond the hands kneading over tight muscles. Can’t think beyond the knowledge that they’re Castiel’s hands.

“That’s,” she finally manages to say, “that’s, um… it’s fine.”

Her voice sounds strangled and rough, and it takes a moment to realize that she’s gripping the pillow in clenched fists. She exhales shakily as she forces her hands to relax, hoping it isn’t as obvious as it feels. From the way Castiel pauses, hands resting still at her shoulders with her thumbs resting side by side at the top of her spine, Deanna thinks it might have been. Deanna stops breathing and presses her eyes shut.

 _Don’t panic_ , she thinks. _She doesn’t know._

She almost believes herself until Castiel’s thumbs start moving again. But they’re not massaging, now. They’re just stroking, circling light enough to almost tickle. Touching for the sake of touching.

“Dee,” Castiel says, and she’s whispering now. “Dee, is this… is this okay?”

She’s not asking about the pressure—that much is obvious. Deanna’s pulse is racing, thundering, and she doesn’t want to let herself hope, but god, she does.

Deanna swallows audibly and pulls her lower lip between her teeth before she answers, keeping her eyes closed for fear that she’s misreading the situation.

“Yeah,” she says back, though the word comes out breathlessly. “‘s more than okay.”

Deanna hears her exhale shakily, and feels her fingertips sliding down over her shoulders, along her arms, featherlight and cautious. When they finally reach her hands she finds the courage to open her eyes. Castiel is looking down at her, an expression on her face that is three parts terrified and one part wanting.

“And this?” Castiel asks, voice wavering just a little as she skims her fingers over Deanna’s. Instead of replying, she pushes up onto her knees and catches Castiel’s hand as she abruptly pulls it away.

There’s a second that lasts forever when they both kneel in the dark tent, and Deanna lets herself stare down at their tangled fingers. It’s so small. It shouldn’t mean anywhere near as much as it seems to.

Castiel moves forward at the same moment Deanna does, and when they fall together, meeting in the middle in a kiss that Deanna has dreamed about for years, it feels like coming up for air.

When Castiel’s free hand slides up her side, gripping her tight and pulling her closer, Deanna smiles into the kiss. She was wrong before. Camping wasn’t a terrible idea at all.


End file.
